


I Will Try

by ready_to_kick_some_ass



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Character Death, Short One Shot, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 23:48:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9095977
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ready_to_kick_some_ass/pseuds/ready_to_kick_some_ass
Summary: Written for a prompt on Tumblr: Could you write Sherlock trying to cope with Mycroft's death, and John helping him with that?





	

It was a cold, foggy day in autumn.

Rain hammered against the windows in a rhythmic staccato.

Sherlock sat in his chair staring at the wall.  
His fingers went slowly, absently over his violin, which lay in his lap.

Eventually, there were footsteps. Hesitant. Halting.  
John entered the room and coughed.  
Sherlock didn’t look at him.

“It’s … cold here,” John said.

Sherlock didn’t answer.  
He slowly bend his head and looked down at the violin.  
He could hear John’s even breathing.  
And then his voice.  
“Sherlock …”

Sherlock swallowed. He closed his eyes.  
“It was a gift,” he whispered hoarsely. His throat was dry. “The violin was a gift from Mycroft. Mycroft always found the best presents for me. He gave me Redbeard. And he gave me the violin. He also payed for the lessons. He said … he said, the music would help me to concentrate. To control myself. And he was right. Of course he was right.”  
Sherlock stopped talking and opened his eyes again.  
He finally looked at John.  
John, who stood there in the middle of the room, with his hands clenched into fists.

Sherlock looked at John, and suddenly felt tears in his eyes.  
He wanted to supress them, but he didn’t have the strength anymore.  
He was tired.  
He was exhausted.  
He felt … numb.

There was a pain in his chest. A pain he didn’t know.

“I … I loved him, John,” Sherlock said, and a tear slowly ran over his face, down to his chin. “And the only time I’ve said that to him was the moment he died.”

“I know,” John said. It sounded choked. “I’m sorry, Sherlock.”

“He’s gone, John,” Sherlock whispered, and the pain in his chest got stronger and stronger. “He’s really gone.”

Gone.

His fingers started to tremble, and the violin slipped from his lap. It fell to the floor with an ugly thumb.  
Sherlock didn’t notice.  
He sat there and realized that Mycroft was dead and gone.  
And it was too much.  
He emitted a choked sob.

Pain … so much pain.

Suddenly, there was John. John crouched in front of him. John took him into his arms and held him. Held him tight.  
“Let it out, Sherlock,” he whispered into Sherlock’s ear. “Let it out … Don’t hold it back.”

And Sherlock started to sob. 

“That’s it,” John said, and stroked over his back. “That’s it …”

Sherlock screamed.

“Yes. Let it out. Let me hear it.”

They sat there for eternities, while the rain grew stronger and stronger.

*

Sherlock stared at Mycroft’s gravestone. 

The burial was over, and only he and John were still at the graveyeard.

John stood beside him. They were silent for a long time. Then John said quietly, “You know, sometimes it helps to talk to them.”

Sherlock looked at him. “Like you talked to me?” He asked and swallowed, when he remembered how he watched John speaking to his “grave”.

“Yes,” John answered.

Sherlock thought about it.  
Then he nodded. “I want to try.”

“I’ll leave you alone then, alright? I will be close,” John said.

“Yes.”

Sherlock kept on staring at the gravestone while he listened to John’s vanishing footsteps.

He drew a deep breath. He’d never done this before.  
How did one start?  
  
He swallowed, and then quietly said, “Hello, big brother.”

He felt, how tears entered his eyes again.

“Uhm … there are a few things I want to say to you. Ok … uhm, there are many things I regret. Things, I shouldn’t have said to you. I know, I wasn’t a good little brother most of the time. I know, that I often hurt you. And disappointed you. You were always there for me. To pick me up. To … to help me. I don’t think I’ve ever really thanked you for it. Thank you, Mycroft.”

Sherlock ran a hand over his face.

“Thank you for everything. I loved you. I will try to be good now. I will try to make things right. I will try.”

He stopped talking.  
He … really felt better, he realized.  
Not so empty anymore.  
He took a last look at the gravestone.  
Then he turned around and searched for John.

Time to make things right.

**Author's Note:**

> Corrected by [bakerstreet-irregular](http://bakerstreet-irregular.tumblr.com/).  
> Visit me on [Tumblr](http://currently-in-my-mind-palace.tumblr.com/) for more! :)


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